


His Most Trustworthy Slave

by Kirsten



Category: Smallville, The Histories - Herodotus
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Crossover, M/M, Mutilation, Slavery, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-17
Updated: 2005-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirsten/pseuds/Kirsten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life in the east inspired a passion for rebirth. Histiaeus saw himself rising from the ashes of treachery and deceit like the phoenix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Most Trustworthy Slave

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my own amusement, referencing V: 35-36 of the Penguin edition of Herodotus' _The Histories_ : "... so he shaved the head of his most trustworthy slave, pricked the message on his scalp, and waited for the hair to grow again."
> 
> Please pay attention to the warnings.

Life in the east inspired a passion for rebirth. Histiaeus saw himself rising from the ashes of treachery and deceit like the phoenix. Darius enjoyed that motif, had inscribed it all over the palace at Susa. Histiaeus wanted to take that metaphor and forge it into his blade. Miletus would return to the Greeks and Susa would fall, and when Histiaeus ruled he would take hold of Artystone, take hold of Atossa, and he would cut off their breasts, cut out their wombs and rip out their tongues so they could breed no more, could speak no more of Cyrus's line.

And Histiaeus would laugh, while Darius snarled.

Then Histiaeus would take hold of Darius and force him down onto his knees. "You will serve me," Histiaeus would say, and he would cut off an ear when Darius spat in his face. "You are nothing here," he would say to Darius, and he would put that ear in Darius's mouth and make him eat it. Then he'd cut off the other and do the same, and Darius would scream, and Histiaeus would cut out his tongue and slash at his throat, and then he'd fuck Darius's bleeding mouth, and it would be slick and hot and awash with his victory, and he'd come in Darius's stiffening face while Darius hacked and coughed and died.

Perhaps Histiaeus would make a chain of Darius's teeth, still bloodied to match the string of red stones Histiaeus wore about his neck. It would be a fitting memorial to a man who chewed up lands as if they were cake, who tore at the Greeks and took from them relentlessly, the world's greatest glutton in being.

"And you will be my instrument," Histiaeus said to his most trustworthy slave. "Through your loyalty shall I rise."

His slave knelt at his feet, and kept his eyes lowered to the ground. "Yes, master."

Histiaeus smiled and took his blade from its sheath, rested his hand on the crown of his slave's head. "Look at me," he said, and his slave did, and Histiaeus pressed the sharp edge to his slave's throat. "Let that be your warning," Histiaeus said, and drew a thin line with the point. Blood welled from the cut, but his slave did not flinch. "I chose you well," he murmured, and raised the blade to his slave's scalp.

"I would not betray you, master," said his slave, and Histiaeus laughed and lifted strange bright red hair and removed it smoothly, blade moving carefully, scrape and scrape and scrape and scrape, until the red gleamed on the floor, a puddle of copper around his slave's knees, and his slave's pale naked head was exposed to the air.

Histiaeus leaned down and kissed that naked head, ran his lips over flawless skin. "You are beautiful like this," Histiaeus told him, raising his slave's face with a finger beneath his chin. "I have done this to you. I should always do this to you. Others have taken your body, your mouth, but this nakedness I gave you."

"Master," his slave breathed, and Histiaeus decided to be merciful, and gave a finger to his slave's mouth. It was warm in that hidden space and made thoughts of fucking in Histiaeus's head. He would take this mouth and this face a final time before his slave left for Miletus. His slave was eager for Histiaeus to use him, to force flesh between his lips and bend him back and fuck his throat until tears ran down his face.

"Enough," Histiaeus said, and pushed his slave away. He took the pin and dipped it in the dye, a dark blue dye used to make silk cushions and sheets. Folly, perhaps, to match the shade to the eyes of his slave, but captivity bred such foolishness, and a man who had been captured by more such foolishness had little use for pride. Aristagoras would see his slave, would look upon him and know: _This man is the property of Histiaeus._

"Remain still while I prick the message into you," ordered Histiaeus, and his slave bowed his head and remained still while Histiaeus pricked the message into him. Blood streaked over skin, new red replacing old, blue trickles covering new nakedness. It was a pretty sight and made Histiaeus think of sunset over the Aegean, the fire of the orange sun and the darkness of the approaching night, and stretches of pale, pale, pale on the horizon, and ancient godstars emerging in the sky.

Skin such as this was meant to be burnished by a Greek hand, penetrated and despoiled by a Greek blade, by a Greek pin. "You belong to me," Histiaeus said, etching his words with a careful hand. "Never has a man owned one so beautiful as you. I can hardly wait to watch you take my cock between your lips. I want to watch you kiss it, and lick it, and suck it, and fuck yourself upon it, fuck your face upon it."

"Yes, I will kiss you, and lick you, and suck you," his slave whispered. "I will fuck myself, fuck my face upon you. Master, I will worship you. Master."

"Slave," Histiaeus commanded. "Take out my cock while I finish you."

Fumbling, then, at Histiaeus's waist, and his cock emerged into open, his slave's hands upon it, his slave's wanting breath teasing him with its lightness of touch. "Kiss me," Histiaeus said, and his slave did; "Lick me," he said, and his slave did; "Take me in your mouth and suck me," he said, and his slave did, and Histiaeus pricked his last mark as his cock slid into heat. He dropped the pin, let it fall to the ground, and he cradled his slave's bleeding head in his hands, pressed his fingers hard into wounds to let the hurt linger, to prompt a moan, and his slave did moan, and Histiaeus moaned, and his slave began to move his head, to fuck his own face on Histiaeus's cock.

It was hot in that throat, and tight, and wet, and Histiaeus gripped harder and took his pleasure without thought. He thrust and thrust and saw damp in his slave's eyes, and he pictured himself like this, weak and yielding, owned, possessed, fucked and wanting and being denied, and only a moment of the image drew orgasm from his body, and he trembled his release into the mouth of his slave.

He stayed in there till the last drop had spilled, softened in his slave's throat, until his slave's struggles for breath began to fade. He released his slave then, on the edge of death, pulled away and held his slave's head to prevent gasping collapse to the floor, and he rubbed his cock all over his slave's face, which was flushed and full of dying lust, with streaks of semen on his mouth and his chin.

Histiaeus touched his fingertip to the salt water on his slave's cheek and tasted it. It was good, not bitter, and he repeated the process, only this time he put his finger in his slave's mouth. "Would that I could keep you with me always," Histiaeus whispered, and made him suck down his own tears.


End file.
